From Murder House, With Love
by GinHermi
Summary: AU Violet made it out of the Murder House alive. She and Tate keep contact through letters. With nothing to do, Tate is a devoted writer to his light. As the days pass they begin to wonder if they'll ever see each other again.
1. One to Four

**A/N: **_Hey there everyone! Couldn't resist writing this new idea down. Loved the idea of an epistolary FF. Here's the few facts that have changed in this slight AU story._

_- Tate saved Violet from the overdose._

_- Violet and her family leave the Murder House. Violet gives Tate a few parting gifts; of these gifts the most important is a journal._

_-The Rubberman was always a figment of Viv's imagination._

_-Violet and Vivien found out about Hayden being killed by Larry. (They know nothing of Ben's involvement.)_

* * *

(I)

Dear Violet,

It's been a few days since you left and I finally decided to write you a letter. I'm keeping my promise to you. Just because you're now in Florida and I'm stuck in this hellhole doesn't mean we can't still be together in some way. I figured that I had a few things to confess to you and I'm going to do them now. I want you to know that I _know_ what I did. Something about you leaving made me realize just what it was that I had done. I admit it; I killed fifteen kids and hurt other people that day in 1994. I also set Constance's then boyfriend on fire. Literally. I walked into his office and set the douchebag on fire. He had it coming, though. Serves him right for killing my brother. Just like it was right of me to axe one of the bitches that was trying to kill you.

That's not the worse thing, though. What I really wanted to confess was that part of me wishes that I hadn't saved you. Sometimes, when I'm sitting alone in the basement with the few things you gave me, I wish you had died. I know how that sounds but it's true. If you were dead then you would be here with me. You'd remain the same, you'd be in my arms, I'd kiss you, keep you warm, smile at you, we'd listen to music, play games and we'd make love. It would be an eternity of two people in love. But that's just when my selfish side gets the better of me.

The rest of me is happy that you've made it out of the house with your life intact. It's good to know that you've left and that you and your family are safe. I'm envious but overjoyed at the fact that you'll leave high school with a diploma in your hand and not with a death certificate justifying your absences.

I love you. I miss you. I hope missing you becomes an easier burden to carry. Write me back. Tell me what's happened in your life. Tell me that you're making the most out of your second chance at life; that your mother is happy with her babies. Let me know that your father has stopped giving you grief because you spent time with me. Maybe you'll tell me that you miss me too. I just want you to be happy. I love you.

Yours,

Tate.

* * *

(II)

Dear Tate,

Florida sucks. It's sunny, hot and wet and I don't know anyone. My mom is finally happy. She has her new babies, though she doesn't like to think that one of the twins is spawn to the house. Or at least that's what she says. No matter what anyone tells her she keeps thinking that the doctors said that the babies have two different fathers. It's ridiculous because they're twins. I fooled around with mom though and said that they look like Snow White. You know pale skin, dark hair and all that bullshit. The eyes are really the only difference. Nick has blue eyes like dad and Michael has this weird reddish brown color that freaks me the hell out. Mom thinks that the freaky eye color makes Michael special; I think that's a load of bullshit because the only thing those eyes do is make that kid even more demonic than he already is.

Nick is quiet but Michael is demonic and just cries and cries and cries like he doesn't care that his lungs might explode from all the screaming. I haven't been able to sleep since my last night in the Murder House. The babies don't help. And not to get cheesy but being away from you doesn't help my sleep schedule either. If you thought I'd go throughout a whole letter without saying that I miss you then you're wrong. I do miss you. Sometimes when I'm lying in my bed, looking at the ceiling and begging the world to get Michael to shut the fuck up, I almost picture you holding me. That lets me sleep for a little while.

Oh and my Dad is too busy to give me any 'grief'. I don't know what it is about newborns but they have the power to render adults completely fucking brain dead. I get that mom has to be occupied with feeding them and whatever, but Dad has totally lost it for the babies too. If I thought they were ignoring me before then I was wrong; otherwise, what they're doing now would be considered illegal.

I've even gone as far as to think that if it weren't for the fact that they might notice money gone, I'd use a credit card to get on a flight out of Florida. Sometimes I want to fly to Boston but other times I want to fly back to the L.A. Don't question me on it because you're smarter than that. You know why. Sometimes, I wish I had died too. I've been ping-ponged around this country in a short amount of time for the needs of others and I've been viciously ignored. If I were dead, at least I'd have your undivided attention and at least I would be there for you when you need me the most.

How are you, anyway? Is the burden getting any easier? Tell me everything.

Miss you,

Violet

P.S. Sorry it took me a long while to write back, but with all this moving to a new state and dealing with a set of newborns drama, I was driven nuts and got distracted.

* * *

(III)

Dear Violet,

It pains me that you're feeling like shit. Especially when I can't do anything about it. Well except maybe give you advice. You told me they make soundproof headphones. Get some and crank up the volume on your music gadget. If your ears are going to be ringing they might as well be ringing because you're listening to good music and not to the cries of a newborn.

As for your parents, they ignore you but I never will so keep writing me letters. Besides, you're used to ignoring them right back. And after all, remember that they love you...eventually they'll get some sleep and go back to their previous patterns of lesser neglect.

You have no idea what I felt when you said that you missed me. And as for the sleeping thing...you really don't _want_ to know what I felt. Either way, I couldn't describe it. I'm having Constance send you something with my letter so that you feel better about the lack of sleep. Or at least have something to remember me by. Who knows? Maybe it'll help.

Nothing important has happened to me since I sent my letter. Marcy has shown the house to a few people but no one wants to buy it yet. Mostly I just spend my time in the basement. Going to your room (or my room...whatever you consider it) seems wrong. I don't want to go in there if I'm not going to see you.

If I'm not in the basement then I'm playing with Beau…or avoiding your dad's psychotic mistress. The bitch wants to fuck me and doesn't take the hint that I'm in love with you. I don't want to touch anyone that isn't you. She just has to deal with that fact. Other than that, I'm bored and being bored makes me miss you more. Missing you more just drives me insane. Lately, I've gotten moody enough to bother Moira. She said she was going to poison me if I kept groaning and whining.

I hate being stuck here only because I can't fly away to Florida and be with you. I know you need me and I know that I need you. Sometimes I use that journal you gave me to write poems about you. Or if not I describe, in great detail, what I miss about you or what I would do to you if we were sitting on the floor of your room listening to Morrisey.

Hayden teases me on it, actually. That's _before_ she starts sexually harassing me. She says I'm like a girl and I really don't care if that's the truth. I have a right to express myself. Especially considering that you've made me feel shit I couldn't feel before. So fuck it, I'm like a girl.

Are you sleeping any better? How's the new asshole infested high school?

I love you,

Tate

* * *

(IV)

Dear Tate,

You're a bastard! You know that, right? I tell you that I can't sleep properly and it's partially because I'm away from you and you have Constance send me this. Not that I don't love it. I do love it but I'm caught somewhere between wanting to slap you and wanting to kiss you. I'll settle for giving you satisfaction. I'm sending a little something of my own along with this letter and yes, the sweater has helped me sleep a lot better than I was before I got it.

It was funny when my mother saw a package arrive for me. I lied to her and told her that I had left something in the house and that Constance got it for me. It's not like it's a complete lie. I did leave something behind and Constance did send me something. Either way, I didn't show her your sweater. I keep it in my room.

Aside from the sweater, there's something else helping me sleep. My aunt bought the soundproof headphones for me as an "I'm sorry for your shitty current existence" present. I don't care why she got them for me, though. I can overlook the fact that she pities me. Oh and you'll be delighted to know that Michael has toned down his crying. He's gone from crying for seven hours to crying for five. Whoa progress!

Did you really have to ask me about school? I hate it here just as much (more even, I think) as I hated Westfield. At least when I was at Westfield I could come home to your face. Here I come back to crying and adults gushing over babies. Fun fact though: Florida coke whores are by far more annoying that California coke whores. Maybe I just got used to hanging around Leah, but these sluts gross me out. I'm the new girl and its mid year so I'm like this alien from the planet Los Angeles and everyone expects me to be rich or to have fucked a celebrity. How stupid can they be?

As to Hayden...she was a cunt before she tried getting on top of you and she's an even _bigger_ cunt now. You're not a girl. There's only one thing that your mother has said that I agree with. She said something along the lines of you having the soul of a poet. She's right. Your feelings are deeper than most people and you just found an outlet for them.

I wanna cut you a deal, Tate. I know by now you've been dying to find out just what it is that I've been doing with your sweater so that I can sleep better. I'm anxious to know what it is that you picture doing to me if we were in our room. You show me yours and I'll show you mine.

Deal? Tell me everything you've been writing. ;)

Love,

Violet

* * *

**Tate's next letter is quite interesting. *hint hint* Lol**


	2. Five to Eleven

**A/N: **_Wow, I've received a lot of feedback for this. Thanks everyone! It's great to have positive reinforcement considering this is the one story that I'm writing as I go along. Not outlined like all the others. Here I pretty much let the characters tell me what they want to say. I'm just the messenger here. Hope you enjoy this new chapter!_

* * *

(V)

Dear Violet,

You've given me all the satisfaction I could hope for. Especially because you want me to tell you all my dirty little secrets. Well, they're not really secrets so much as my imagination. Either way, you knew where all of that was headed. Even if you hadn't implied it in your letter, your present certainly does say that you know exactly. Did you get a rush out of sending this to me? I'm pretty sure you did.

I'm happy that you're sleeping better. Five hours definitely seems better than seven. You're a stronger person than I am though, for trying to handle it. Nora sometimes cries for one or two hours and that's enough to get Hayden to murder her again. I just want to shut my brain off for a while but I wind up having rages from the continuous noise.

Are you actually telling me that things are worse there than they are at Westfield? How the fuck is that even possible? Leah was horrible enough so I can't imagine what those cocksuckers do or say to gross you out. I'm pretty sure you want them gone. I agree with you; people who think just because you're from California you're rich and know celebrities are stupid. They deserve that title.

Oh and don't worry, if you were wondering when I'm getting to describing what I do to you, then you're almost there. Constance is nuts and I would never believe anything that she says, much less that she thinks I'm a poet because she's always tried to get me to be the perfect child. Fuck that. But, if you think I feel things deeper than other people then it must be true. I doubt you'd bullshit me about this. You're not the type to shower me with flowery things like that. If you think I've the soul of a poet then I do. My poetic soul is all because of you though and only belongs to you.

So now, the moment you and, presumably, the pair of panties you sent me have been waiting for. Excuse my flair for the dramatic. This was one of the last fantasies I wrote into my journal. It was actually a daydream I had when I was hiding out in the basement for a long period of time.

We're sitting in your room, as always, but this time you're a bit older. You smile at me and say that you've come back for me. That you're never going to leave me. Something inside of me goes crazy at hearing those words. I push you to the ground. I lift your hands above your head and pin them down at the wrist with one of my hands. The rest of your body is deliciously trapped underneath mine.

I kiss you. Not soft or gentle either. It's a kiss of pure, raw need…believe me Violet, I _need_ you and the longer I go without you, the more that need grows. I'm in a position of power laying over you, pressing down on you and holding your hands hostage but really, I'm at your mercy. One touch from you or a slight moan is enough to make me cum in my pants. Yes, the need that I have for you is that bad…smirk all you want.

I open your mouth with my tongue and my free hand slips under your shirt. In a whisper, I order you to open your legs and you comply automatically. You do me one better and wrap them around me…that move perfectly aligns us. I grind my cock against you. Your breathing becomes fast and ragged. I let your hands go as I start removing your top. You're just as horny as I am and as the shirt goes over your head, you undo your bra. Then your hands all but rip my sweater off of me. After it's off, you attack my lips in a state of frenzy. It's as if you've been a caged animal that has had its favorite meat dangling in front of it for months. You are a monster unleashed. I'm a fiercer monster and I've been unchained too.

You ripped my sweater off? Fine. I ripped your skirt, your leggings and your panties clear off your body with no care in the world. I want you naked under me and that's exactly what I get. There's no need for a bed. Fuck that. I'm seconds from taking you on the cold, hardwood floor.

You have an advantage over me for a second. You pin me down to swiftly remove my belt and my pants. But once we're both naked, I take control. I'm on top of you again and I start fingering you as I nibble and lick at your neck. You whine and pull at my hair in desperation. I know what you want but I refuse to give it to you. Not at that moment, anyway. I pull my mouth away from your neck despite the fact that I'm enjoying leaving my mark on you and savoring the taste of your flesh against my taste buds.

I move my mouth down because, let's face it, I can't fuck you without first eating you out. What kind of a lover would I be if I neglected your pussy of a few good licks? Especially when I know how uncontrollable you get when I do it. I place your thighs on my shoulders and devour you. It doesn't take long for you to start thrusting wantonly against my mouth. I look up at you and our eyes meet. My eyes give off the look of a predator but you're not afraid. You keep your eyes on mine throughout it all. You just pant heavily and keep moving your hips in time with my tongue. It's not long before your eyes widen and your mouth produces a loud moan as you come apart in my mouth.

I lean back from you, your legs still draped on my shoulders and I look at you as you come down from your high. I lick my lips lasciviously, knowing you'll catch a glimpse of the gesture. My dick gets harder when you respond by licking your lips too. You drop your legs to the floor, sit up and kiss me. Your tongue fights mine inside my mouth. I know a big part of you is enjoying the fact that you can taste yourself in my mouth. I enjoy it too.

I love it even more when your hand wraps itself around my dick. I moan into our kiss as you jerk me off. You make me lose self-control. If there's one thing I definitely don't want to do in this fantasy (and almost never want to do regardless) is to cum outside of you. Maybe it's my primal, possessive side but I just want to bury myself inside you and fill you up. So as I'm getting close to climaxing, I slap your hand away and shove myself inside you.

You're incredibly wet and as tight as I've remembered you to be. In my fantasy, as I'm fucking you, I tell you how tight you are and you answer me that you've only ever been with me. How I'm the only one who's ever had you this way. That makes me fuck you harder. You don't just take it; you thrust back at me so that I'm deeper inside you. I place my lips on your neck again and you scratch my back. You leave angry red marks down it, down my shoulders, arms and then my chest. We go faster and I bite your neck roughly. I actually pierce the flesh with my teeth and a bit of blood spills out. You scream it out when you cum as I lap at your blood. I fuck you through your orgasm. Your second orgasm happens minutes later. I cum with you this time. I say your name like it's hallowed.

We lay spent on the floor. We are boneless and the little strength that I have left is to pull a blanket from the bed over us and to accommodate us both into a perfect cuddling position. I tell you that I love you, you say it in return and we fall asleep in each other's arms. When I wake up, I imagine feeling a sense of dread because I think that you wont be there. In my fantasy when I wake up, you_ are _there. Your hair even tickles me because you're using my chest as a pillow.

That's when the fantasy ends. Because I know I'm not going to wake up and have you in my arms. I haven't lost hope that I'll see you again one day, but I don't think that day is any time soon. I wish it were.

Sorry for ruining this for you. The honesty of what happens to me in the aftermath of my fantasies just spilled out. Don't get too sad. Your underwear has cheered me up like you wouldn't believe. Or maybe you could.

So tell me, what exactly is it that you do with my sweater?

Yours,

Tate

* * *

(VI)

Dear Tate,

I made the mistake of reading this when I was outside of the house. Well, I started to read it outside of the house, anyway. Since it was Saturday I got the mail as soon as it came. My mom wanted to go to the park with the babies and she wanted me to tag along. My dad forced me to go. I started reading the letter in the car. Don't look at me like that. I was desperate. As soon as I got to: "It's a kiss of pure, raw need…believe me Violet, I _need_ you and the longer I go without you, the more that need grows", I figured I better save the letter for later.

Yes, sending you my underwear did give me a rush, but I knew what I was doing. If you fantasize about me, I thought you should have something physical to help you out. A pair of panties serves all the best to fuel your hormonal desires…and mine, if I'm being honest. I know you're going to use them exactly how I want you too.

Normally, I use your sweater for my comfort. I emptied the top drawer of my nightstand and I keep it in there. On most nights, when I've settled on some music to block the baby out, I pull your sweater from the drawer and press it to my cheek. I feel the texture of the sweater first. I think of what it would be like if the sweater were filled. How maybe the fibers would touch my skin by accident if your hands were touching me. Then I smell it. It's a simple thing to do…smell a sweater like some lovesick girl. But it helps and soothes me. It smells like you. I could get into what you smell like to me, but I'd rather not. You just smell good, ok? And like home. So normally, just a bit of the smell makes me feel at home, so I put the sweater back where it belongs and go to sleep.

That's not what I did when I read your letter, though. Your fantasy was, like you had said, full of detail. I saw it all. For a while, I pretended you were here with me. My mind started remembering what it felt like to have you touch me everywhere. My fingers tried to mimic your dick and failed miserably. I closed my eyes and thought of what you wrote. I focused on your eyes specifically. Your want to look at me with "the eyes of a predator" and I can just imagine those eyes hitting me like a truck. I couldn't possibly look away if your eyes gave off that emotion. I hate getting like this but the truth is that if you looked at me like that, it would just affirm that I belong to you. I know you're grinning right about now.

When I was getting stuck and just couldn't bring myself off even though I really wanted to, I broke the sweater out. I placed it down on the bed where it would be if you were actually laying there. It was a visual stimulus more than anything, but I pretended that I was on top of you. That you were giving me the "predator" look in your eyes as I rode your cock. That you had done everything you said: fingered me, licked me, and fucked me. I just touched myself and moved my hips in time to my pumping fingers (I repeat, they kind of suck because they're not you) and when I got close to cumming, I grazed the fabric with my unoccupied hand and I bit my lip to keep from screaming your name.

You've gotten me under your thumb, Tate. After I finished, I took off the shirt I had on and put your sweater on. If I can't wrap my arms around you, I might as well put your sweater on. I surprised myself when I woke up and I was still wearing it. I think I got what you mean about the disappointment. When I was still a bit hazy from sleep, I thought you were in my room somewhere. Then I remembered.

I never did finish your letter when I was getting myself off. I read your fantasy more than once but never past the saying my name "like it's hallowed." The morning after, I did. And I knew exactly what it was that you were feeling when you wrote that because I had felt it too when I woke. You said a lot in those few words, you jackass. You made me miss you more than I already do. I'm going out of my mind here.

I still don't have anyone who I can say that I trust. My parents still have two newborns to take care of and the person I can only ever find comfort in is 2,600 miles away (give or take). What's worse is that I know you're feeling shittier and shittier as time goes by. There's nothing I can do to stop it. Or maybe there is. I don't know yet. I need time to think. It's not fair that you're one side of this country and I'm in the other.

I love you. Never forget that. I know I probably don't have to send you a picture of me, but consider this the most cliché thing I've ever done and I'm doing it for you. It's something to tide you over. Don't worry about me; I've drawn your face to perfection. Took a while because I was drawing from memory, but I drew you. I actually drew you with all your complexity; all your perfection and imperfection. I'm going off topic, but I thought you might like to know.

I don't want to use your sweater to go to sleep anymore. I'm afraid it'll stop smelling like you. If it does, I'm going to be fucking pissed. Now though, it just smells like both of us. It's a sign of hope.

Love,

Violet.

* * *

(VII)

Dear Vi,

I used your underwear exactly how you thought I was going to use them. How could I not after reading how you fucked yourself to thoughts of the fantasy I wrote to you? And then to know your bare skin touched my sweater. That you were wearing it to sleep. That it's starting to smell like both of us. I couldn't help myself.

You said you're mine and that I've got you under my thumb, well you've definitely got me under your spell and you're the only light I've ever known. You've changed me Violet. I was so angry before…lost in darkness.

I love the picture. It's better than my imagination. I wish I could actually see you, but this is a good substitute. I keep it in the box you gave me. You know, the one where you put the journal, the black rose and the letter set. I put the rose on top of the picture.

I can't believe you drew my face from memory. If I could draw your face I would. Unfortunately, my drawing sucks. I even tried drawing birds and it never worked out too well. I stick to writing fantasies, poems and haikus. Turns out better.

I know you hate being in Florida, but you have to bear it. It's where life has taken you. You're strong, Violet. You'll find a way to be happy there even without me. I'm distraught from missing you, but I'm sure eventually you'll visit me. I'm in a prison of my own making. If I hadn't killed all those kids I wouldn't be stuck here and I'd be able to follow you for the rest of my time. Then again, if I hadn't died here, I never would have met you. That brings me a weird sense of peace. I don't know why I did it, but it brought me to you in the end. It's not all bad. Don't do anything crazy.

I love you,

Tate

* * *

(VIII)

Dear Tate,

Stop trying to be so noble. Be selfish. You saved me because you didn't want me to be stuck in the house. You let me go without complaining because you knew that's what my family wanted and that it's what I'm supposed to want. You say you want to see me and that you wish you could see me, you wish that I was there but you tell me not to do anything crazy. Fuck all of that!

Yes, you are stuck in the house because of something you did. No one is going to deny that. But I forgave you for what you did as soon as I knew that you weren't the same person anymore. You admit that I've changed you, so I'm fine. I don't approve of what you did but I've made my peace with it. I'm _also_ slightly grateful that you died. I'm so sickeningly happy to have met you. I wouldn't be the same if you hadn't broken into the bathroom to tell me I was cutting incorrectly.

Listen, long story short, I need you to tell me the absolute truth. If I could do something to get to Los Angeles would you want me there? And IF, I ever…made certain to stay with you, would you welcome me with open arms? Please be honest.

Love,

Violet

* * *

(IX)

Dear Violet,

I'm not being noble. I want you here all the time. I've told you that sometimes I wish you had died. Did you forget that? Because it's in my very first letter and I will never stop thinking it. I wish you were here. You're mine Violet. Only mine. I wish you had died in this house so that I could be with you. But that's not what happened.

You've been given a second chance and as selfish as I want to be…as much as I'm dying to tell you to break all convention and come be with me, you deserve your second chance. I've always wanted you to be happy and free. Being stuck here isn't being free. Could you try to be happy in Florida? Please try Violet. I love you too much to see you ruined because of me.

Yours always,

Tate

* * *

(X)

Tate,

You want me there. That's all I needed to know. Respect my decisions. The heart wants what it wants and I'm miserable in this place without you. I thought about it…about what my parents would think of their eldest daughter running away. I want to do something for me. This is what I want. I've never really been the type that wanted the perfect life. The whole going to college, getting a degree, a fancy job, a house with a picket fence, a yuppie husband and two kids. You probably think that I'm spoiling everything. I'm not.

I'll find a way.

I'll be seeing you,

Violet

* * *

(XI)

Dear Violet,

I can't believe you're actually doing this. You're right, if this is what you really want then I'm going to have to respect it. I still think you're making a mistake, but it's a mistake that is bound to make me happy. I died a little when you took all those pills but that went away when I knew you lived. I don't know how I'm going to handle that you'd kill yourself to be stuck in this house. Then again, if you do all of that, you'd just come back and hold me and tell me not to be stupid about it.

I'll wait for you 'til the end of time,

Tate


	3. Twelve to Fifteen: Need and Other Things

**A/N: **_Please don't murder me. There's a reason for all of this and everything will be answered, I promise. Brace yourselves._

* * *

(XII)

Dear Violet:

It's been a week since I sent you my letter. Almost two since you sent yours. I'm getting worried. Are you hitchhiking? I don't even know if this letter will reach you. Please tell me where you are. I'm tearing my hair out here.

Missing you,

Tate

* * *

(XIII)

Dear Violet:

A week and a half. I think you must be hitchhiking. Be careful of some creepy drifter. The last thing I want is for you to die (well not outside the house, anyway). Send me a postcard from wherever you are. I need to know that you're safe.

Still worried,

Tate

* * *

(XIV)

Dear Violet:

Three weeks have passed. I was going to write sooner but I figured I was becoming too clingy. I worry. You're not here yet. I don't have a letter from you. I know nothing. Hayden keeps telling me that your parents found out that we're exchanging letters and are intercepting them. Then she says I should forget you. I usually push her away and against the wall. If I'm lucky, she's knocked out for a while and I don't have to listen to her. Beau knows there's something wrong and he tries to distract me by asking me to play with him. How could I say no? He's my brother. Surprisingly, Moira is the only comfort I find in this house. She hates me, but she knows that my mood changes the mood of the house, so she tries to cheer me up. She assures me that you're alive and that you haven't forgotten me. I tell her that I couldn't forget you if I tried. She laughs. Where are you, Violet?

With worried, loving affection,

Tate

* * *

(XV)

Dear Violet,

It's been a month. One month since I sent my letter to you. A month and some days since you sent your letter to me. I wish I knew how to find you. Christmas is coming up soon. I wish I could kiss you under the mistletoe and I wish we could cuddle in dorky holiday sweaters. We could do it in Boston. We'd do it in front of a fire and watch the snowfall. We wouldn't have to answer to anyone. It'd just be you and me. That's never going to happen but I wish it did. Maybe we can imagine all of that when you get here. If you ever get here. I wrote this for you.

Lost is the sun

Hidden are the stars

Blue is greyed

Panic overwhelms me

Worry feeds me

[...]

Lost is my flower

Hidden is her fire

Purple is blackened

Fear overwhelms me

Need feeds me

[...]

Lost is my lover

Hidden is her face

Hazel is whitened

Depression overwhelms me

Despair feeds me

I'm driving myself even crazier than I was the first time. The light you lit in me is dying out. The voices are coming for me. Now it's more than fear and worry for you...now it's a need for your shining light. Keats wrote: "My love is selfish." Mine wants to be but isn't. Just tell me that you're alright and a few sparks will aid my flame.

Yours,

Tate

* * *

(Tate Journal Entry: One)

It's been a month and a half since I last heard from her. What the fuck is going on? I'm starting to think Hayden is right. Lately, I've been slitting her throat every time she talks, but some of the shit she says beforehand stays in my head. Maybe Dr. Harmon found all the letters I've sent her. Or maybe Vivien found the sweater and told Ben about it. Fuck. I hate this. Violet wouldn't have stopped writing to me if that had happened. She would have found a way. Unless she's dead. But she's not dead…she couldn't be. After everything she's written to me, Vi wouldn't have killed herself in Florida. Maybe a drifter _did_ get her. I hope a drifter didn't get her. If I were able to leave this fucking house I would go find her. I'm sick of not knowing what's happening to her.

It's the first time I use this journal as an actual journal. Feels weird. I prefer to just write fantasies and take a crack at poem writing. I miss Violet. I need to write it down or I'm going to scream. I'm going to fuck someone up and I'm not going to care. She's not here. I'm losing myself. For whatever fucking reason, she kept me sane. Or as sane as I ever _can_ be. Even her letters made me better. She wasn't here but I had something from her…something to tide me over. A sense of calm came over me because she was out there missing me, reading my letters and writing me back. That comfort is gone now. Something's happened. Maybe she's changed her mind and decided to forget me. Maybe she never really loved me. Or maybe that's the house taking advantage of my misery.

* * *

(Haiku #1)

Where could she be now?

In a vast wasteland of naught?

I hope she's happy.

* * *

(Tate Journal Entry: Two)

Today was different. It's been a while since I wrote in this and it's almost the two-month mark of when I last heard from her. I've been jerking off to my fantasies of her (and with her panties) more than ever. The more I do it, the more I lose myself in the light side of my head. I get a high off it. I can't get drugs so I'm going to pretend I'm fucking her. Hayden's caught me on more than one occasion and tries to climb on top of me. I push her off every time. I just want Violet. I want to kiss her and I want to fuck her into the wall or the floor or the kitchen sink. I don't care. I'm finally selfish. I want her to be all right but I need her. I need her like I once needed cocaine. I want her to look at me like I'm the sun. She used to look at me like that. I want it back. I want her to tell me about the little things in her mundane life. I want her to complain to me. I want to make love to her. I want to hear her voice. I want to light her cigarettes, listen to her music, smile at the sound of her singing under her breath, see her roll her eyes at her parents and call them on their bullshit. I want to watch her sleep and wrap my arms around her so that her slumber can be peaceful. I want her here so that I could do everything for her. I can do nothing for her.

* * *

(Haiku #2)

I am fucking lost

There's no hope without light

I wish it came back

* * *

(Tate Journal Entry: Three)

I taunted Patrick today. It's been a bit over two months now and a strange pain has started to take over. It's more an ache that seeps deep into my muscles and bones and doesn't let me think. I don't know why I have it. Even if I were alive, I wouldn't be old enough to have that kind of shit. I got the sporto to beat the crap out of me. More than once. And he shoved a fire poker up my ass too. I deserved it. And I wanted him to do it. I wanted Patrick to make my ache become sharp stabs. Pain on pain. There's still a hole in my chest. I want to fade into the walls.

* * *

(Haiku #3)

They beat me to numb

It's the way that I like it

Makes me forget loss

* * *

A Mad Dead Boy's Lost Sestina

I've loved nothing more than I've loved Violet.

She loved me back though knowing I'm a monster

There's something about her that every day I miss

And missing things somehow quells my wrath

Yet all the while I wish I could scream in pain

But it's pointless, because the truth is that the bad has become a need

[...]

The bad is a substitute for her that I truly need

Colors have faded and combined until they're all greys and a muted violet

The monotonous color scheme mimics my soulful, physical pain

What I was I let others become so that there is more than one monster

The monsters and the pain are all the creations of this house of wrath

And though I want my love back, I doubt these horrors she'd miss

[...]

I'm often contemplative and spend hours thinking of my quirky miss

And these thoughts tend to start a fire in my loins and a clawing need

But I can do little to relieve them and the desperation turns to wrath

I close my eyes and see all that makes her my unique Violet

I even see the want of her being dead, a lifeless corpse…my mind _too_ is a monster

Where the hell could she be that she sees fit to cause me such pain?

[...]

Now, my thoughts are barely focused on anything that's not her, loss or pain

The loss, it stems from her face, voice, smile and kiss that I miss

I used to have a purpose and I used to be sated, but now unleashed is the dark monster

And this creature once needing light, now carnage for vengeance has as need

Tear down the skies, bird, trees, flowers and find a solitary violet

The rampage begins from the aching wound that created wrath

[...]

Open and gaping…wider and wider and deeper and deeper becomes the wrath

Rotted and infected…wider and wider and deeper and deeper has been the pain

Beautiful and tainted…ever and ever and lost and lost is that haunted Violet

Vast and endless…ever and ever and lost and lost is that which I miss

Sharp and lustful…continuous and continuous and aching and aching becomes the need

Angry and hurt…continuous and continuous and aching and aching has been the monster

[...]

I have my ups and downs; I am your vicious and loving bloody monster

For hours I love you, for days I mourn you and in minutes you are my wrath

Those minutes make me loathe you but the hours and days make you my need

You have clawed at my insides and the scratches, fresh and stinging, bring your pain

But the convolution of feelings is better than not thinking at all about you, miss

Know it now; you are my strobe light, flashing on and off and murdering me, Violet.

[...]

You are my monster and I love your created pain

You are the sadness, love, wrath and lust that I miss

You are my fleshy spiritual need; my tainted and lost Violet

* * *

(Tate Journal Entry: Four)

I've actually lost it. I don't know what I feel anymore. One second I love Violet and I miss her and I want her back. The next I am a rampaging angry and hurt animal. It's like I've been caged for most of my life and then I just charge at the first person I see. It's Moira, always, that calms me down. Comforts me with words about how Violet stupidly (according to her) loves me. That Violet would never forget me; that she's not dead. Moira's words bring me back. But sometimes the old maid just can't control what happens. I never thought that being left without my light would be like this. I don't even know how to cope properly. I want to be hurt but I _don't_ want to be hurt. I ache and sometimes something stings inside me, but I want it. Masturbating has only brought me so far in fending off the voices. It only goes for so long before I'm plunged back to a depressing reality. Remembering Violet is actually worse. It's fine for a while but then I always remember that she isn't here, at which point my head tells me that she will _never _be here. I need her. I need her now because I can't help it. I'm as lost in my mind as she is to me physically.

* * *

(Tate Journal Entry: Five)

I realized today. Near three months. She's never going to write to me again. I'm never going to see her again. She's never coming back. I've lost her. These are my last moments of peaceful clarity. I've lost her and I've lost a part of myself.

* * *

(Haiku #4)

The darkness has me

She said that once to her dad

It has me once more


	4. Sixteen to Twenty Two

**A/N: **_Well, I know all of you have been wondering what's happened to Violet and where she's been. This is all her. Oh and quotes from La Vie En Rose._

* * *

(XVI)

Dear Tate,

I'm so sorry that I never got to L.A. I'm even more sorry for the worry I've probably made you go through. I left the house just like I had intended to. I managed to get some cash from this hiding place my dad keeps to fund my trip and everything. I made it to the airport before my dad stopped me. We had a huge, loud, fight at the airport. He found your letters. Every single one of them. He even found your sweater. Technically, my mother found them but she told Ben. He had wanted to wait to talk to me about it but, he went to check up on me that night and when he found my bed empty, my laptop gone and some of my clothes missing, he knew that I was running away. He thought I was stupid for dropping everything to be with a boy and he _stressed_ that you were no good for me. He yelled that you were going to kill me, that you were a danger to the public and that he would not let you take me into darkness with you. Part of him believed it was my depression that drove me to it, but a larger part pinned the blame on you. I will never understand why, if he read the letters, he would ever think that. All your letters say that you don't want me to kill myself. Ben's so fucking ridiculous. He told me I was going insane and that's what you wanted. I told him that I love you and that you love me. I basically smacked him across the face when I said that. He just stared at me. Then the cops basically told us to go home or we'd be arrested. Dad dragged me to the car and we went back to the house.

The next day, after a shit load of arguing, Ben and Vivien told me they were shipping me to an all-girl's prep school in upstate New York. That's where I am right now, if you didn't notice the return address in the front. I told them they could go to hell. Vivien told me that I was being disrespectful and that clearly, I could give a shit about what was going on around me. Not that she's wrong, but shipping me off to a boarding school seems like their cop out from doing some actual parenting. Fuck them, then. The point is they watched me like a hawk until they packed my bags and got on the plane with me and dropped me off in this fucking hellhole.

You know what's the worst part of it all? Aside from the fact that I'm still on the other side of the country and from away you? The worst part is that they burnt the letters you wrote me. Ben did, anyway, but my mother just stood there looking at me with pity. With pity! I kept a straight face, but she knew that I was hurt by what she letting Ben do. He was going to burn your sweater too, but Vivien was merciful and took it away from him. She donated it. Same fucking difference, I don't have it with me. I have nothing to give me comfort.

When I got to this place, I was given a set of rules. Not that the school isn't already strict, but I am a special case. My parents have somehow coughed up enough money to get the headmistress and the entire faculty to treat me like a prisoner. I mean like a _real_ prisoner; one in a windowless cell. Internet is restricted more to me than to anyone else. I even have to have a member of the faculty present while I use a computer. It goes without saying that I can't smoke. If I'm in the bathroom for too long it's a fucking crisis. I'm also one of the few people that doesn't have permission to go outside of the campus unless it's a group thing with _select_ girls. At least I was given permission to write to you and send letters. Otherwise, I'm only allowed to attend class, read, attend school activities and listen to music.

If you thought that I'd have something in common with any of these girls then you'd be wrong. My complaints about the girls in my other two schools seem ridiculous now. Here, they come from different parts of the planet and they are still fucking annoying. Considering that there are no boys to liven up the place, I can't help but think that these Plastics all have their cycles synced up and fuck some boring schoolboys together in their outings like they're in some sort of cult. And this is my opinion from having been here a weak.

My roommate is nice enough, and maybe I'd like her but she's basically Violet police. She will notice when I do _anything_, especially something that is remotely against the rules that have been laid out for me. I'm pretty sure she's just itching to catch me in the act…smoking or something big, so that she can tell anybody with authority and get some brownie points.

Write to me. Tell me another fantasy. Give me some comfort, I'm begging you. I've already been taken away from you, but now I'm in a sharper prison than the one from before. I've been stripped of all the things that reminded me of you. You are in your prison and I am in mine.

They screened this movie called _La Vie En Rose_ the other night and I was forced to watch, as it was a whole school activity. Despite being forced, I'm glad I saw it. I didn't have that much of an interest in Edith Piaf before but she loved someone in the movie, in a way that reminded me of how I love you. Corny yes, but I don't care. I need a little corny right now.

She said something to her lover that I want to write to you. It's stupid and romantic, but I needed to express myself properly to you. To tell you just what you mean to me; it was said for me. Here it is: "You are my champion. I want you to be mine for life…" Or afterlife, in our case: "Nothing existed before you. It's all gone."

I miss you more and more every goddamn day. I keep thinking that this is all a dream, that I made it to the airport and now I'm at the house with you and we're planning my suicide. I know it's not the truth, but I want it to be. I'm sick of living alone; of living without your company.

I love you,

Violet.

* * *

(XVII)

Dear Tate,

I think you didn't get my last letter. Or maybe you did and you're still pissed at me. If you _are _still pissed at me, I told you I'm sorry. I really couldn't control what happened to me. Who am I kidding? You'd never get angry at me over this. Maybe the letter is just a bit late. It's only been a week after all. I just thought you would have responded by now considering my long absence.

I take back what I said about my roommate. She doesn't want to rat me out or anything; she just sees that I'm sad. I finally found someone in this dump that is something like me. I hadn't noticed that she wears long sleeves all the time too. She used to be a cutter, like me. I asked her why and she told me that her first love died in a car accident and cutting took the edge off. She went on to describe how it felt when she found out he had died. It was like she couldn't breathe, that her heart hurt so much she thought she was dying. Apparently, that only happened right after she was told that he had died. She says that after that, after her heart was broken, she felt numb. Completely numb. And she felt that way except when she cut. Eventually she came out of it, but her depression has lasted a long time.

So, when she saw me moping about, she figured that something was amiss. She sensed that I had some "paramour" that was lost. I told her almost everything about us (though not the things that would have me committed). She thought that I should write to you to my heart's content because I might inexplicably lose you someday. But that's impossible. You're permanent, Tate. You tattooed yourself in my soul and there's no way that you could ever come out.

You can tell it's late at night because I'm getting all mushy on you. Did I mention that I can't sleep anymore? I don't have your sweater and, even though there are no crying babies, I can't sleep. I'm miserable. I'm away from a place I know, from someone I love, and I think from all sanity too.

I just look at the ceiling and start reciting types of birds in my head. I'm getting good at it.

Nothing else is really going on. My classes are boring, the Plastic girls ignore me and my roommate is the only company I have. Though a depressed teenage girl and her misanthropic roommate aren't the happiest kind of crowd. It's kind of funny actually; we both miss dead guys.

Please write to me.

Yours,

Violet.

* * *

(XVIII)

Tate,

Why are you being such an asshole? Answer me anything! I send all of these letters, pour my heart out and I get nothing from you. Not a single word. Do you have any idea how awful it is to not know anything that is going on with you? To start believing that you're nothing but the figment of my imagination?

I miss you, you idiot and I need to know that you miss me too. I need to know that you love me, to know that you read every miserable word that I write to you. Please. Even if you tell me that you're trying to forget me, which I know isn't fucking true, I need you to write it to me. Stop being such a dick about it, and write me.

Exasperated,

Violet.

* * *

(XIX)

Dear Tate,

I'm sorry. I was angry with you. I think it's been a month since I sent you the letter explaining where I was. I was so angry at you when I wrote the letter before this one, that I stopped writing to you for a while. There has to be something wrong. I just know it. Now, I just have to figure out what it is. Right now, I feel a bit like this: "I'm blank, listless, as though waiting for something. Hold me tight against your heart and know nothing in the world counts more than you. If you can, when your fight has finished, return my heart to me so that I can breathe."

I don't care that I'm quoting someone. My heart is always with you and the longer I go without it, the more I fall into a black hole. There I said it. I need you back, Tate. I need your words.

Desperate,

Violet

* * *

(XX)

Dear Tate,

"Yesterday, before bed, I crossed off a day. A long day, but also short." Now that we're been separated and lost ALL communication you: "took away my heart, my life, my breath. My sweet boy, my child, my love, […] my heart sleeps incessantly in the arms of sadness." I didn't get out of bed today. I didn't sleep either. It's been a bad day. I don't know what the hell you did to me that I feel this shitty or this romantic or this corny, but you've done it. I can't move.

Write to me,

Violet

* * *

(XXI)

Dear Tate,

Did you ever love me? _Do _you love me? Have you forgotten me? Is it something I did? Why haven't you answered anything? Are there new owners and you can't get the mail on time?

My days here are boring but at least my roommate keeps me company. She and I found a decent spot in which to do some contraband smoking. She bought some cigarettes and believe me, I have never felt more relieved to smoke. We do it once daily and get it out of our systems. After that it's back to boring monotony. Everything has become so fucking gray too. Maybe I'm going colorblind. I still love you.

Yours,

Violet

* * *

(Violet Journal Entry: One)

It's really stupid, but everything reminds me of Tate. The campus for one, is full of birds and they tweet at different times of the day. Tate would love that. Music reminds me of him…all of it. My scars. My roommate Selene. Everything. It's fucking awful. When did I ever become this unglued and romantic? I think he might have rubbed off on me too much.

I'm just in love with him and my asshole parents are punishing me for it. I want to escape from this hellhole. Selene is trying to help me out. I need to find a way. I've been made crazy and I must get out.

* * *

(Violet Journal Entry: Two)

We've figured it out. In an upcoming weekend students allowed to travel and _I'm_ allowed to travel so long as it's with Selene. That's great because she wants to help me get to L.A. We're going to go to N.Y.C. and she's going to use some of her money to get me on a plane. It's ridiculously generous of her, but when I asked her about it, she just said: "If someone could turn back time, I would go see my Henry. I would do it in a nano second and always thank the person that helped me. What I'm doing so you can see _your_ love is way less drastic and it's something I would love to have happened to me."

For such a sad girl, she really has made my time in this prison a bit easier. I couldn't thank her enough. It warms my heart that I have a way out.

* * *

(Violet Journal Entry: Three)

My mom visited me today. First, she noticed that I haven't been eating or sleeping. Guess mothers _do _always know best. I told her I was miserable when she asked and I didn't explain why. It wasn't necessary. She revealed quite a few things to me.

After she commented on my physical state, she held out the letters I had sent to Tate.

"What the fuck are you doing with those, mom?"-I said.

"Your father paid the headmistress to stop them from going out. Nothing that you've written has gotten to Tate."

"What an asshole!"

"Couldn't agree with you more. I'm sending them after I leave."

"Why? I thought you were with dad on this one."

"I thought so too. But I care about you more than I do about him. You love someone and you just want to see them. I understand that, Vi. I've been in love too."

"You were the one that told me it's like going crazy. I didn't want to believe you, but here it is."-I started to cry a bit and my mom just held me.

"It's ok, honey. It's all going to be alright."

"I've lost it mom. This feels horrible."

"It's going to be ok."

"How?"

"For starters…"-She let me go and grabbed something from her bag. She had his sweater. I looked at her in shock. "I wasn't planning on getting rid of this, Vi. It belongs to you."

She gave it to me and when I unfolded it, four letters fell to the floor.

"He wrote me."-It wasn't a question. I knew he'd likely gone berserk without responses.

"I kept these away from your father. You should read them. And Tate should read yours."

"Thank you."

"I owe it to you. I'm supposed to keep you safe and happy. I failed in the happy part. I want to make it up to you."

"You're doing great so far."

Then she made a deal with me. She said, if I finished the semester off in this mundane shit space, that she would pay my ticket to L.A. Then she told me she was leaving dad and that she'd move to L.A. with the babies and me some time in the summer. But that she would give me the first week in summer to be with him. That was more than I'd need. She stayed while I read Tate's letters so I could write him a response.

He sounded so broken. And it had been a long time since he had sent the last. He wanted me to shine a light on his darkness. I would not deny him. I wrote him another letter.

* * *

(XXII)

Dear Tate,

I'm sorry for everything. My parent's _were _intercepting your letters. And also, my father paid off the faculty of the school so that my letters to you were never sent out. I love you, I love you, I love you. Don't lose yourself. I'm here, I will write you everything. And if you're lost, come back to me. I will never leave you again.

My mom brought me all your letters and brought me back your sweater. She'd actually never donated it. She wants me to be happy with you.

My mother is paying for me to go to L.A. at the end of the school year. That's only a little less than four months. We can handle that while talking to each other can't we? I want to please my mother one last time and then I'm all yours. And _you_ are going to be all mine. At least, I hope you will be still.

I love you,

Violet


End file.
